RATING: Adult for language and content
DISCLAIMER: The Bee has no rights or claim on any
of the characters or products named in this story and makes
no profit from them.
SUMMARY: This is the third story in the Rosebud/verse.
Tara has been abducted and the police rush to find her.
The other members of the Circle decide that they can do
a better job and begin their own investigation.
Who will find her first and will it be in time?
It had been a long tedious day of paperwork. Spike had wrapped up the
murder investigation of the bartender, and the teen thug that had tried to
rob him was safely behind bars.
The formality of the trial had been avoided by the kid's confession and
now all that remained was the completion and filing of the follow up
It was late in the afternoon and Spike had decided to head for the coffee
machine despite the fact that it was a typical sweltering California afternoon
and the iffy air conditioning in the Justice building worked only when it
was in the mood.
Today, it was apparently NOT in the mood. In fact, it had, over the years
proven to be most bi-polar. Still, he needed the caffeine jolt and it felt
great just to give his typing fingers a few minutes rest.
After stretching his back and shoulders, he had gotten as far as his
office door when the call came in. It was the one he had been waiting
on for the past four months. It was the call that sent his spirits soaring.
He tossed the rest of his remaining paperwork into his desk drawer,
giving it no more importance than if it were the mail in warranty card on
a cheap electric can opener.
Nope, this was much more critical. This was a ten second conversation
that spoke volumes. In fact, it hadn't required anymore of a response
than a snappy, "Gotcha. Be right there."
He knew the caller wouldn't be offended by the lack of "Bye" before
disconnecting. Some things in life superceded the formality of good
Snatching his suit coat off the back of his chair, he flipped the office
light switch off as he raced out the door.
With no time or patience for a slow freight elevator, Spike darted down
the steps, leaping two at a time, turned the corner and flew by the booking
desk and dispatch officer. When Oz looked up and saw him coming,
his usually casual, easy going expression lit up.
"Hey! You got the call, didn't you?" Spike beamed but didn't allow
himself to slow down. Chit chat over Spike's good fortune was NOT
on the agenda.
"Sure did. Gotta go. Time crunch. I'm off duty for the rest of the night.
DO NOT CALL!"
It was too late to answer and Spike was already out the door and into the
parking garage before Oz gave a wave of his hand and a snicker.
Spike immediately went into professional mode. His body took over
the physical tasks of starting the car and aiming the Corvette in the right
direction while his brain began organizing and categorizing all the finer
points of a plan.
He knew he would have to make one stop first and while he cursed the
lost minutes, it was too important a detail to be overlooked. The establishment
he choose was a bit further out of the way, but Spike knew the quality of the
product would make it well worth the wasted seconds.
Thank the sweet sandal covered feet of Jesus the place was not busy
and with the brown paper wrapper on the seat beside him, there was
nothing else to slow him down, except,
"Oh hell no!"
The instant he turned onto Jarvis street, he knew he had made a
tactical error. What was usually a short cut, was, at rush hour, a
simmering quagmire. A traffic jam of bumper to bumper aggravation.
A recruiting post for road rage.
It took only a moment of wheel gripping curses to know what to do.
Immediately, Spike reached into the glove box and pulled out the small
domed light. With his window down, he slapped it up, sticking the suction
cup base to the top of the car and he flipped the switch.
The red light spun and the siren screamed causing drivers all around
him to pull over, slow and get out of the way. Spike threw his shifter
in gear and expertly wove in and out of traffic till he was again in the clear.
Within minutes he had arrived.
He slammed it into park, grabbed the parcel beside him and ran up the
walkway. Before he could reach the steps, the door flew open wide.
"Did you get it?"
Spike was always thrilled with the eager welcome he faced when he
returned home each night. A warm hug. A loving kiss.
Not surprisingly, tonight, he got neither of those.
Before Spike even stepped over the threshold, Xander had snatched
the parcel from the detective's hands. Holding it in his palms, Xander's
eyes got big as he mentally calculated it weight.
"Oh, God, Spike. It's so big! Come on. Hurry, I've got everything ready."
Xander spun around and took off into the depths of the mansion, Spike
hot on his heels.
"Are you sure? I mean what did they actually say?"
Xander was already in the kitchen, reverently placing the brown paper
package on the butcher block island. Carefully he unwrapped it, revealing
two of the most beautiful, perfectly marbled, thick sirloin steaks he had
His mouth watered as the smell of dead cow whiffed to his flared nostrils.
"Spike! You went to The Provision! Oh. My. God! No one
butchers like Dave. This is fucking perfect. I don't know what I want
to do more, cook it or fuck it."
Quickly, Spike threw the paper flap back over the exposed meat, cutting
off the heavenly visual that had Xander nearly hard.
"Focus, Love. What did the witches say? Are you sure they won't
be back? I'm not keen on another lecture like the last one. Damn
redhead nattered on for nearly an hour on how they shove an electrode
up the cow's bum to kill it. Like I care. And Tara! Shit, if that one
doesn't know 2000 ways to cook soy, I'll kiss your arse."
Xander had rescued his supper from the wary detective and was in the
process of introducing it to a couple baked potatoes that it would be
soon sharing a grill with on the back patio.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, Willow said she had to stay late at the Magic Box and
Tara was attending a Wicca thing at the college. Willow said she was going
to get a ride over to the school and her and Tara were going to have a late
supper out at the Salad Shack. Mumbled something about needing some
time to themselves. Anyway, I figure we got about three hours till they
Spike grinned and hopped up on the center island to watch his lover fuss
around dicing onions, wrapping tin foil around the potatoes and humming
a happy tune. He was mentally doing some calculating of his own and knew
tonight was going to be all about meat, and not just the ones on the grill.
Since moving into their mansion, Spike's hopes and dreams of fucking
Xander in every single room had been squished by the unexpected
arrival of the witches. He still winced when he remembered the night of the
housewarming party. After tossing everyone out, he and his psychic
had broken in the house in their own way. Loudly. Repeatedly.
He recalled running naked down the hallway till Xander caught and fucked
him at the top of the stairs. He vaguely remembered sneaking up on
his lover as Xander slipped down to the kitchen for a late night snack.
Apparently the butcher block island was not as comfortable as it appeared.
Imagine their shock as they sat stark naked at the breakfast table the
next morning when the two witches breezed in with a casual
"Good morning, roomies" tumbling from their lips.
He might have accused Xander of knowing about the witches moving in if
it hadn't been for the stunned look on his face and the rapid drooping of his
disappointed dick. No, his lover was innocent. Unfortunately, he was not
angry enough to toss them out.
They pushed his buttons. They had no place to go. The house was huge
and nearly free. They had already unpacked.
Xander was a sucker. In more ways than one and the two became four.
Over the months, Spike had to admit it hadn't been bad except for the
girls adamant stand on the consumption of meat. It was a major no no.
Often, he and Xander went out for dinner. Sneaking off like thieves in
the night to a greasy diner or across town to a steak and seafood joint.
But this. This was a dream come true. Just the two of them in their own
home with privacy, time and two slabs of Dave's best.
Spike leaned back on his hands, head tipped up, eyes closed and
moaned at the sound of the steaks sizzling as they hit the grill.
"Fuck, yeah, Xan, just like that."
With the back door standing open, the smoky smell drifted in and slipped
straight up Spike's nose. His cock hardened.
Xander snickered, knowing what his cooking was doing to his boyfriend.
"Jesus, Spike you should see them. The juice is just starting to ooze out.
The potatoes look like nuts on the sides of the meat and I'm poking them
with my big fork. They're still hard but I know when they get hot and soft
they will taste so good, butter dribbling off their skins."
Spike rocked back and forth rubbing his hand over his jean covered erection
as he listened to Xander's deep, silky voice.
"What are you doing now?"
Xander fanned the smell into the house.
"Listen, I'm going to flip them over. We don't want to overcook them. Just
enough. They will be hot on the outside. Just a bit of a crust on the flesh
but still pink inside."
Spike groaned at the thought and he quickly unzipped, freeing his dripping cock.
When the hot sizzle of turning meat hit his ears he stroked himself. Xander peeked
in to make sure he was on the right track. He was.
"Fuck, Spike, the fork slides into these potatoes like a hot knife into butter.
The steam is rolling from them and the steaks are oozing hot pink juice.
Oh, God, Spike they are so close. Fuck, it's gonna taste so good. Hot,
juicy and beefy on your tongue."
Xander flipped them again sending the sound and smell rolling out into the air.
He knew everyone in the neighborhood could smell it. He didn't care, this one
was for Spike.
Xander knew that sound. Spike was done with his appetizer and was ready for
the main course. Happily, he slapped the food on a plate and entered the
kitchen in time to see his partner cleaning himself, the floor, and the island.
"What?" Spike tried to be offended at the knowing grin on Xander's face.
"Been a long time, it has."